I have 40 minutes of you and you have 10 minutes of me. That means that what you can read in 10 minutes takes me 40 minutes to write and edit. I have only 40 minutes because I have to get the tea (dinner if you’re posh) on by then because she-who-must-be-obeyed will be coming down the stairs in her hungry state and will be expecting to be fed. We’ll be having lapsy-papsy rice and a nice crunchy-salad.
For those of you who don’t know what lapsy-papsy rice is: it’s rice with veg that’s really, really nice when it’s freshly cooked but which goes a bit soft when it’s been in the freezer and then is nuked in the microwave until all the listeria is dead. Yeah, I’m not keen either; but, like I said, the salad will be nice because it’ll be freshly put together from seven chopped (cubed) ingredients (pickled beet, vegan cheese, avocado, olives, tomatoes, grapes and cucumber) slathered with various flavours (cider vinegar, olive oil, salt, basil, aminos, soy sauce and something else I’ve forgotten) served on a bed of lettuce (iceberg for me and something from a bag of leaves for she). Anyway, it’ll be delicious and nutritious, so what’s to worry. If that doesn’t fill me (or my mouth ends up too salty) then I’ll probably have a couple of small bowls of cornflakes (not Kellogg’s) sprinkled with granola (M&S Three Seeds) and plant milk (a delicious mix of Oatly (Barista Edition) and rice-based liquids). It’ll be two small bowls instead of one large one because I like my cornflakes to be crispy.
After that comes the future, which will be divided into two parts:
- Stuff I can guess at
- Stuff that’ll spring on me like a cat that was lurking in the shadows.
As you can guess, if you’ve read anything I’ve ever written) I’m going to launch into something weird and blue-sky now. It’d be disappointing to me if didn’t. I have no real idea how you’ll feel about it but, to be honest, I don’t really mind., which is different (in my mind at least) to being callous, insensitive and uncaring only by virtue of the fact that I say it’s different. And I do: it’s different (see, I said it).
So, off I go into a long (oh, actually it’s going to be short because I only have 18 minutes left) digression about the only thing that matters to me: me. This one, to give you fair warning, revolves around the reasons I very easily lose interest in the things I do. Here’s my usual arc: something interests me and so I decide that it’s the thing I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing. Two weeks (or some other short length of time) later I know everything I want to know about the subject and so I stop being interested in it. Here are a couple of examples:
- Computers. I used to buy those old style computers that came in big, grey cases and had to have peripherals (screens, keyboards, mice etc.) and I used to pull them apart and put them back together to see what made them tick and to find out if they were still alive afterwards. One way of taking a computer apart is physically (new hard drives, modems, graphic cards etc.) and the other way is more subtle (it involves taking the operating system and software away and then replacing it with another operating system etc.). Both ways got boring after a while and computers went the way of all the toys (in a box in the attic / garage). What finally killed my interest in computers was getting a Macbook Pro. Those things don’t need anything doing to them – they just go on and on. I’ve got the first one I bought in 2008 and it’s still going strong.
- People. I used to have friends and I used to be in close contact with my family. Heck, I even used to live with them for a while. But as the years went on I realised that they were saying the same things over and over again to the extent that I could predict the next line to emerge from their minds (via their mouths, that is). I can even do that with movies because, they usually have characters in them and characters are prone to the same repetitivenesses as people are. Obviously you are the only exception to this rule, because you are new to me at the moment. I do so hope that you will continue to invent a variety of interesting things to say, though, because if you don’t then I may (I’m not saying I will) lose interest and that would be tragic because you seem like a nice, caring, well-meaning person.
I only have 4 minutes left and so I’m going to have to leave you now. I hope that you have something nice planned for your next meal and that, after that, you have a very lovely rest of your day. And remember this: the things that you remember are the things that are important to you.